


My Friend, There's Nothing I Can Do

by Eureka234



Series: I Couldn't Tell if You Were Blessed or Cursed [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Femdom, Food Kink, Humiliation, I'm Going to Hell, Light Angst, The Cake Is A Lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: Samson can't cook. Faith is upset by this. NSFW.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop writing these things. I have too much fun with it.  
> 

So now I have to learn  
What I should know  
Your words, they burn  
Inside my soul  
But I won't cry anymore

\- Won't be Here This Time, Marina Kaye

“What is this?”

Faith prodded the charcoal crisped whatever-it-was with a fork, where it instantly crumbled to a small pile on the kitchen bench. The clay mould it had come from was sitting in the sink and sizzling steam, odd chunks of food stuck to it.

The fire in the hearth radiated pleasant warmth on their bare ankles, but apart from that the room was freezing. They were in casual garb from the work day, comfortable enough to curl up to sleep.

Samson stared blankly at the monstrosity like it was a dead mouse. “It’s the greatest mistake of my life.”

With that level of sarcasm, Faith could only try to meet his eyes, and failed. “Oh yes,” she agreed, “It is.”

Silence.

“And how are you going to repay me for ruining this?”

“What?” Samson inquired.

“The coin,” Faith said shortly, “so I can make a better one.”

The man screwed up his face. “I thought we were going to eat it.”

“Oh. Who else is joining us?”

Samson finally met Faith’s gaze, and he looked deadpan before smiling. “I can force feed it to you, little baby.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“I’m sorry for having an opinion.”

“Thank you.” Faith paced away from the kitchen bench. The smell was making her nauseous. “I believe this mistake of yours is rightful grounds for a punishment.”

Samson grinned in her favourite way, his eyes twinkling. “Maker help me,” he murmured, sounding absolutely delighted. He wouldn’t be happy for long!

“The Maker thinks you are an idiot,” Faith said simply, “He is on my side for once, which is pleasant. I agree with His judgements this time.”

Her silly man may have been at a festival with endless spending money for how he smiled, gleeful. Even so, his tone was steady. “But you like idiots. Your relationship history is a string of heartless morons.”

“And you are no better than them, Samson,” Faith uttered, even if she knew it wasn't true. “I have your disastrous pile of charcoal as proof. Now, before you flounder away, how do you intend to repay your mistress for the gravest mistake of your life?”

Asking for obedience… those words always made him submit. Resolve weakening, Samson glanced at the floor, uncertain. “How do you want me to repay you, Faith?”

Faith went to the small dinner table and sat on top of it. She waited until the silence was uncomfortable enough, until she had made eye contact with Samson for long enough, that he felt uneasy. Cautiously, he stepped forward, maybe unsure of what to do.

“Please serve me a slice of your disgraceful cooking. I expect you to present it neatly, with no crumbs falling on the ground or spreading around the plate. Should you do this incorrectly, it will be duly noted, and you shall be punished accordingly.”

Samson looked disgruntled. “Aren’t I already getting punished anyway for burning it in the first place?”

“You have this chance to lessen the severity of your punishment, little man.”

Taking a steady breath, he turned around and searched for a plate in the cupboard. If he wasn’t threatened with a punishment, she was sure he would have said ‘you fucking bitch’ or something to that effect now.

“What do you say?” she checked.

“Thank you for giving me a chance to lessen my punishment,” Samson said, “princess.”

“You do know how to behave,” Faith praised him, “Go on then.”

She waited, pretending to bored, nonchalantly crossing one leg over, then her arms, but Samson wasn’t paying attention to her. He was focused on trying to cut the baked _thing_ he had made, choosing the correct place to slice it along its rounded shape.

He cut it once, and the chunk instantly broke apart in three sad smaller pieces. “Shit!”

“Such language,” she said.

“I’m expressing my feelings,” he said hastily, hunching over like stacking cards and bringing the knife through a different section, slowly.

“You don’t have many feelings,” Faith said.

“Shut the… yes, princess,” Samson said, dismissively. He carefully removed the knife from his second cut. Faith decided she would let that slide because he recognized his mistake. The cake stayed put. Holding his breath, as though afraid if he exhaled on it the whole thing would disappear from this plane of existence (it probably would, truth be told), her lover brought the knife a quarter of the way down. He paused, waiting.

Nothing happened. With a near whimper of nervousness, Samson removed the knife and turned it side on, no, diagonally, and slid it into the cake. Awkwardly, pressing his fingers gently on it, he withdrew a slice of his cooking disaster and put it on a plate. A small corner broke off and crumbs went on the kitchen bench. Briskly, lightly, she saw him flick the crumbs away, where they went flying a meter or so. It was slightly impressive. He had nice fingers, very good hands….

Faith must have looked dazed, or simply ridiculous, because when Samson started to walk to her with the plate in hand –and he backtracked not a second too late to retrieve her fork- he smiled upon meeting her eyes. Unsure of how Faith felt about that expression, she looked away.

“Here you go, princess,” he said, balancing the plate on her thighs.

“Thank you, Samson,” she said, forcing herself to look at him again, and picking up the fork. She held it out. “Kiss this.”

Samson raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to stab me with it?”

“You have warranted yourself a kindness,” Faith said slowly, outstretching her arm a bit further. His pupils expanding ever so slightly, he did as she asked.

“It tastes like you,” he murmured, and with a grin, “Like the cold embrace of death.”

“You are hilarious at times,” Faith replied, “but that hurt my feelings.”

“Oh. Sorry, princess,” Samson corrected.

“Very good.” Faith carefully started to pick apart the burnt sections of the slice from the rest with the fork. Sadly, the damage as wide spread. She kept all the blackened crumbs to one side. “Stand there while I examine this.”

He did. It didn’t take long until Faith had dissected it and managed to uncover three misshapen pieces that weren’t burnt. Light pink colour was visible throughout it, and then dark purple.

 _He wasted a vial of lyrium,_ Faith felt both flattered he had tried so hard, and also a bit irked he had failed miserably, _that well intending bastard!_

“What is this called, Samson?”

“It’s lyrium cake,” he said.

“No. That’s incorrect,” Faith said shortly, “You provided me with its proper name earlier.”

A pause, and then, “It’s The Greatest Mistake of My Life.”

“That’s much better,” Faith said. She scooped up a forkful of the blackened pieces and lifted it to Samson’s mouth, “Eat this.”

“Err…” Samson muttered, fixated on the cake.

“What are you hesitating for?” Faith said, with a smile, “It is your cooking. I’m certain it is incredible. You will be missing out if you don’t try it. Or would you present your mistress with something disgusting?”

“I did this for you, Faith,” Samson said cautiously. Looking away in disquiet, he ate the charcoal off the fork with his teeth, as if he’d rather break the fork. He swallowed with some difficulty.

“How is it?”

Her lover appeared as if he might be sick. “It’s wonderful.”

“I am proud of you for cooking so well, and trying so hard to please me. Does it taste like me?”

“A bit,” Samson said.

“How do I taste?”

“Like smoke. But I like that.”

“Then you want to eat more of it, don’t you?”

 _He hates me right now,_ Faith thought with elation.

“Y-Yes, princess.”

Faith did all she could not to laugh at him, or at least not smile. She scooped up some more charred pieces on the fork and held it out. “For you, little man.”

It was such a delight to see his handsome face try not to screw up in disgust. She felt a little sorry for him, really, but his punishment wasn’t over. When he swallowed, she ran the prongs of the fork lightly down the front of his throat and over his clothes, stopping at his navel. He extended his neck, as if to say he wanted more.

“How do you feel?”

“Thirsty.”

“You may retrieve yourself some water. I am going to finish this cake.”

“Thank you, princess.”

He left to the sink, and Faith enjoyed two of the three pieces of cake that wasn’t burnt. The tang of lyrium was too sharp and the sugar from fruit too sweet -he hadn’t mixed it properly- but it was much better than whatever she had fed to Samson.

When Samson returned, he looked as though he had splashed his whole face with water. His chestnut hair was wet at the edges and clung to the sides of his head.

“Want anything, Faith?”

 _Yes_ , Faith thought, _you_.

She uncrossed her legs and tried not to rub her hips against the table as she did so. Lifting the fork she motioned him closer. “Sit yourself in a chair.”

Samson grabbed the closest one that was near her, and positioned it so he was right in front of her when he sat down. The man leaned forward slightly, his regard inquisitive, attentive, his hands on his thighs, as if stopping himself springing up.

Faith placed the plate to one side. “I have some feedback on your Greatest Mistake.”

“Yes?”

He looked like he didn’t want to hear her opinion anymore.

“I recommend that you ask for my help next time you decide to cook. However, your efforts were admirable.”

“Thank you, Faith.”

He cautiously avoided her eye, perhaps anticipating whatever Faith had in store next. She lifted the fork again and ran it back over his neck, gently. Samson quivered.

“I have one more request,” Faith explained, running the fork down over his groin, that was noticeably desiring to be touched.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he blurted out.

Faith grinned. She put the fork down and picked up the last piece of not burned cake with her fingers. “I saved this piece just for you.”

Samson looked positively thrilled. “Aww, that’s nice of you.”

“Please eat it.”

She probably sounded too desperate, but oh well. He gladly obliged to the task, picking it up with his fingers and chewing it quickly.

“Do you like it?” Faith asked.

Samson nodded, trying to lick crumbs off his fingers without looking like a slob. It made no difference. He was a messy eater anyway. She offered her hand to him, and he removed what was left of the crumbs from her. Then she slid that same hand down her skirt, beneath her knickers and brought it back out covered with a different kind of mess. Her lover’s was fascinated by it.

“That’s not a very good punishment, Faith,” he said, seriously.

 _I don’t want to punish you anymore,_ she considered saying, but then admitted, “You are correct.”

She hesitated. Samson didn’t move. Maybe he didn’t want her. Faith felt disappointed, though she stood to her feet. She was still slightly taller than him, but it was more level than before. Edging her sullied fingertips away, she leaned closer to his face. 

“You don’t want to know what death really tastes like?” she murmured, voice sharp, almost as a threat.

Samson shook his head. “I _was_ joking, Faith.” He sucked her fingers clean. “You remind me that I’m not dead, that I have feelings, at least some.”

“I counted one,” Faith remarked with a smirk.

“We were taught by the Chantry,” Samson said, with a shrug, “I guess what you say that makes sense, then.”

She was so tempted to kiss him, but maybe that would make her more gentle affections too obvious. The type of kisses she wanted were not the kind a mistress gave to her loyal servant after being punished. Or perhaps… they were. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be.

 _I wish I knew what he was thinking_ , she thought, morosely.

The silence continued on, and she realized a little late that she had been maintaining eye contact with him for a very long time. Neither had he looked away, the silver of his iris's glistening with an innocent curiosity. Inhaling deeply, she said, “I am very disappointed that the lyrium was wasted.”

Samson’s eyelids widened ever so slightly. “I can eat the rest of the burned bits, Faith.”

“That is not necessary,” she responded, running her fingernails down the side of his face, “I have another punishment in mind.”

To the void with it, she kissed his mouth, and fought within herself to not make it last long, to not give herself away. Samson tried to keep her lips locked on his. He hardly gave her a chance to breathe. Perhaps he couldn’t tell how much she wanted tenderness and not vicious fun.

He didn’t stop her to say, _that isn’t a punishment,_ or _what are you doing?_ He didn’t stop her at all. Unable to make up their minds, they undulated with passion underneath the table, and knocked their limbs on chair legs on the rise and fall of ecstasy.   

All the while, Faith wondered why she kept trying to chasten herself.


End file.
